


pick me up (come harvest, carry me home)

by iokanaan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Background Akagi Michinari/Ojiro Aran/Oomimi Ren, Embarrassing Courtship Rituals, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pining, Post-Timeskip, kita shinsuke's amazing biceps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iokanaan/pseuds/iokanaan
Summary: Akagi’s shoulders are shaking so badly with laughter that he has to put down his drink. Aran just stares. “Spit it out,” he says flatly.“D’ya think - d’ya think Kita-san could pick me up now?” Atsumu blurts.Akagi keeps laughing at him. Aran keeps staring. So what! It’s normal! It’s perfectly normal! It’s perfectly normal to have the odd daydream - the odd fantasy about your old high school captain wrapping his strong arms around you and picking you up as you stare deeply into his eyes, so lovely and so golden in the light!
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 15
Kudos: 140





	pick me up (come harvest, carry me home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaumari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaumari/gifts).



> 💗💗💗 HOPE YOU HAVE THE HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY!! please enjoy!!!
> 
> my deepest thanks to [goobie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toccoans) and [kitashinchwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitashinchwan) for betaing!

“Damn,” Atsumu says, apropos of absolutely nothing except the fact that he’s three drinks into this post-match shindig and there’s one thing he hasn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the moment he set foot into Onigiri Miya. Well, two things, actually. “Wouldja look at Kita-san’s arms? What  _ are _ they feeding him on that farm?”

Akagi nearly chokes on his drink. Luckily Aran is there to save him, because all Atsumu can manage is a few distracted thumps on his back while he cranes his neck to keep Kita in his line of vision. This just sets Akagi off again in another gale of sake-soaked laughter, loud enough that it carries over all the cheerful noise and bustle of the restaurant to reach Kita’s ears.

Turning to look at them for just a moment, Kita’s gaze is as piercing as ever. He still knows how to make Atsumu sweat - how to set his pulse racing, some giddy nervous thing chasing its own tail under the spotlight of Kita’s regard, jumping endless hoops just for a hint of a smile, a crack in that forbidding facade.

Still, Atsumu is never ready for when that smile actually comes. Maybe it’s because they haven’t seen each other in person for a while, with Atsumu busy playing volleyball and Kita busy on his new farm; maybe it’s because Kita had shown up at the Black Jackals-Red Falcons match completely out of the blue, utterly radiant even beneath the harsh lights of the arena, the very poster boy for the healthy outdoors lifestyle with his broad shoulders and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms.

Maybe it’s just Kita. Even if Atsumu dedicated himself to making Kita smile every day, he doesn’t think he’d ever be ready for the way Kita’s mouth quirks just slightly at the corners; the way his expression softens as something warm and very gentle blossoms in his eyes.

That’s all it takes. Atsumu’s heart does a triple somersault and nearly flings itself right out of his chest. He needs to occupy his mouth, pronto, before it does something incredibly stupid like shouting  _ Kita-san, I want to make you smile every single day _ across the room at top volume.

Absent-mindedly patting Akagi on the back, Atsumu brings his drink up to take a sip. Across the room, Kita nods at him, that tiny smile still playing across his lips. As he turns back to his conversation - with Omi, and Atsumu narrows his eyes at this, because he’s seen Omi chatting up people before and those moves look  _ way  _ too similar for his liking - Kita’s shirt pulls tight enough around his arms that Atsumu can see the shift of his biceps beneath thin fabric.

God, Kita definitely was not this built in high school. God, he’s definitely put on a whole lotta muscle since. God, is that the curve of his pecs? Is that the dark shadow of a nipp-?

In a stunning display of coordination, befitting one of the nation’s top setters, Atsumu completely misses his mouth and spills Asahi Super Dry all over Akagi’s head.

  
  
  
  
  


“Our kouhai are the  _ worst,” _ Akagi laments, once he’s stuck his head under the kitchen tap to wash away the sticky residue of Atsumu’s drink. Still, he looks really rather pleased with himself, sitting pretty beside the bar with Aran’s Red Falcons jacket draped around his shoulders after Aran gallantly offered it to him so he wouldn’t get cold while his hair was drying.

“I mean, I don’t think  _ all  _ our kouhai are the worst. It’s just Atsumu,” Aran says, which is extremely rich coming from someone who is also looking rather pleased at the sight of Akagi wrapped cosily in his jacket - since,  _ hello, _ that wouldn’t have happened without Atsumu. Then, glancing over Akagi’s shoulder, Aran catches sight of Suna gleefully recording ‘Samu and Gin’s ongoing onigiri-and-shots fest, and promptly corrects himself. “No, you’re right, they’re all terrible.”

“I  _ said  _ I was sorry,” Atsumu protests. “And I offered to pay your tab! I even let you guys take the last two seats at the bar so now I'm being forced to stand!”  _ And I’m probably going to score you both a date tonight _ , he doesn’t add, because Oomimi is very obviously checking them both out from across the room in that stone-faced way of his, and Atsumu is very happy for all of them but also he  _ does not want to know anything about that. _

Luckily, neither Aran nor Akagi seem to have noticed yet, so Atsumu doesn’t have to be subjected to their embarrassing threesome courtship ritual. Instead, he’s being subjected to their embarrassing twosome courtship ritual, which mostly seems to involve Aran carefully rearranging his jacket around Akagi’s shoulders, and maybe their hands brushing every once in a while when they’re feeling bold.

“You’re a rich volleyball star now, you should be paying your senpai’s tab anyway! Plus I convinced Shinsuke to come out tonight, so shouldn’t I have your everlasting gratitude already?” Akagi says, and though his words are directed at Atsumu, his smile is clearly all for Aran. 

God, Atsumu hates being the third wheel so much. Then again, he should probably count his blessings; being the fourth wheel is even worse, after all. Once Oomimi finally plucks up the courage to come over, he’s going to peace right out of this conversation and just leave them to it.

“Not like Shinsuke was going to miss this when he’d already come down for the match,” Aran, the ever-reliable voice of reason, points out. That ever-reliable voice of reason catches at just a glimpse of Akagi’s smile, but Atsumu  _ has _ actually developed some tact since high school, contrary to what Osamu claims, so he doesn’t bring it up.

“It’s - it’s nice that Kita-san could make it today. He's been pretty busy lately,” he says instead, eyes drawn across the room to the unflinching figure Kita cuts - the thoughtful tilt of his head, sending shadows pooling in the hollow of his throat; the slight, considered movements of his hands, showcasing the flex of his biceps. “He sure is working hard on that farm, eh?”

Akagi cracks open the craft beer he’s having on Atsumu’s tab. “Oh, so you've noticed how  _ hard _ Shinsuke's been  _ working, _ hmm?

He takes a sip and then grins, sharkish, over the brim of the can. “What’d I say, Aran. How long did it take him to start talking about Shinsuke’s gains?”

“That’s - that’s not what I meant!” Atsumu splutters. Okay, so he might’ve developed  _ some _ tact, but from the equally disbelieving looks Akagi and Aran shoot him, he’s gotta work on the subtlety a little. “Fine, maybe it's kinda what I meant. It’s - it’s just impressive, okay! Like, Kita-san’s never been a big guy -”

“He’s above average height,” fellow above-average-heighter Akagi interjects, rolling his eyes.

_ “Okay, _ he’s just above average height, sure, but he's not a big guy in volleyball terms and it's not like either of you have grown since high school -”

“You take that back, I grew half a centimetre!”

“- fine, neither of you have grown  _ much _ since high school. What! Don’t throw your drink at me, that’s expensive shit! It’s not my fault you can’t face the truth! Anyway, that’s not the point, my point  _ is _ \- my point is -”

Atsumu’s eyes drift back across the room. Kita folds his arms over the swell of his pecs, nodding seriously at whatever bullshit line Omi's feeding him, and then suddenly Atsumu’s view is blocked by an ugly-ass undercut (much uglier than his own!) as Aran’s unreasonably tall middle blocker walks past.

“My point IS,” Atsumu says insistently, shuffling to the side to get a better vantage point, unobstructed by bad hair, “Kita-san’s always been all about that hard work, y’know? I’m just curious about the results - well, I guess Kita-san would call them the side-effects. So maybe I’m just curious about the side-effects. And, um, maybe I’m particularly curious about one, one  _ specific  _ side-effect -”

Akagi’s shoulders are shaking so badly with laughter that he has to put down his drink. Aran just stares. “Spit it out,” he says flatly.

“D’ya think - d’ya think Kita-san could pick me up now?” Atsumu blurts.

Akagi keeps laughing at him. Aran keeps staring. So what! It’s normal! It’s perfectly normal! It’s perfectly normal to have the odd daydream - the odd fantasy about your old high school captain wrapping his strong arms around you and picking you up as you stare deeply into his eyes, so lovely and so golden in the light!

Aran finally opens his mouth to speak - and despite the fact he's probably just going to embarrass Atsumu further, Atsumu finds himself kind of looking forward to Aran’s snappy comeback. Now that  _ he’s _ the one forced to play the straight man to his teammates’ antics, he’s realised how goddamn exhausting it is to constantly have a comeback at the ready. Aran-kun’s comedic talents are truly unparalleled! Atsumu bows before his iconic tsukkomi routine!

But instead, Aran turns away from Atsumu and calls out:

“Hey, Shinsuke!” 

He catches Kita’s attention with a wave, blithely ignoring Atsumu’s hissed  _ WHAT ARE YOU DOING, _ and beckons him across the room. 

Kita raises his eyebrows slightly at this interruption to his conversation, but politely extricates himself nonetheless. Over Kita’s head, Omi shoots Atsumu a disgruntled look, as if it’s  _ Atsumu’s _ fault that Kita’s attention has been so thoroughly diverted - as if it’s Atsumu’s fault that Omi’s awkward flirting only works on, like, Ushijima.

… in fact, it hasn’t even worked on Ushijima yet, but not for want of trying. Atsumu sympathises. Ushijima Wakatoshi’s incredible hotness and incredible spiking power are only outweighed by his incredible obliviousness, after all. Still, going by how Ushijima has started awkwardly flirting  _ back, _ Atsumu’s sure that they’ll figure it out somehow.

_ Good luck, Omi-kun,  _ Atsumu thinks benevolently. It must show on his face, because Omi looks deeply, fundamentally offended, and, well - if  _ that’s _ how he’s going to respond, Atsumu is never showing any sympathy for him again.

And then Kita completely distracts them both by smiling gently at Omi as he says goodbye, sending Atsumu’s mind reeling. Oh god, Kita’s  _ smiling _ at Omi now?! Oh god, he’s walking away from Omi - walking towards Atsumu - looking really rather charmed?! Oh god, maybe Kita  _ is _ the type to be charmed by awkward flirting; he's certainly the type to be charmed by earnestness, by a thoughtful effort to do things right, as opposed to any sort of slick seduction.

_ Good news for you, then, _ says a voice in the back of his head which sounds suspiciously like Osamu in one of his pissier moods.  _ Y’aint fucking slick. _

“You called me over, Aran?” Kita asks, suddenly much closer than before, distracting Atsumu from any thoughts of flipping off Omi for being the wretchedly lucky recipient of Kita Shinsuke’s smile. Kita Shinsuke, who still looks so charmed, so fond, nodding a greeting at Aran and Akagi, tilting his head up to acknowledge Atsumu too. “Michinari, Atsumu - it's good to see ya.”

The soft cream of his shirt sets off his golden tan, and it stretches tight over his shoulders as he comes to stand beside Atsumu at the bar. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes in Atsumu from head to toe, and Atsumu feels himself flush all over, standing a little straighter beneath that considering gaze.

"It's good to see ya too, Kita-san," Atsumu replies, his voice coming out low and a little breathless. It's just - way too hot in this restaurant, with way too many people crammed into the same space, using up all the oxygen and leaving Atsumu light-headed. Kita seems to be feeling the heat, too, because the top button of his shirt is undone, and from his higher vantage point Atsumu catches a glimpse of tanned collarbone.

He hadn’t replaced his drink after the whole drenching-Akagi-in-Asahi-Super-Dry incident, so he has nothing to occupy his mouth, nothing to save him from blurting out something incredibly,  _ unfathomably _ stupid like: “Please -” 

_ \- can I put my mouth on your neck and lick your collarbones and worship your throat with kisses and also maybe take you home, your place or mine, it doesn’t matter, because I think anywhere could be home if I was with you. _

But then - thank all the gods Kita doesn’t care for! - Akagi interrupts him before he gets any further than that tiny breathless  _ please. _

“We were just talking about you,” Akagi says. 

He smiles, fox-like. And all that gratitude turns to ice in Atsumu’s veins.

Kita fixes his gaze on Akagi, raising his brows minutely. Atsumu’s body temperature somehow swings from frozen-over to fever-hot in the blink of an eye, sweating absolute buckets as he desperately wills Akagi not to open his big fat mouth.

_ SAY SOMETHING, _ hisses the pissy Osamu in the back of his head.  _ Don’t just stand there like a moron, distract him! Literally make up anything to distract him!! Say you were talking about his farm. Just say you were talking about his f- _

“Arms,” Atsumu squeaks. “We were just talking about your - arms.”

Kita looks back at him, eyebrows climbing even further up his forehead. Imaginary Osamu has torn off his omnipresent cap and is now tearing his hair out.  _ HIS FARM, NOT HIS  _ ARMS, _ YOU USELESS BISEXUAL!!!! _

Before Atsumu digs himself any deeper, Aran - kind, merciful Aran-kun, his best and oldest friend now that Osamu (well, imaginary Osamu, but real Osamu would do exactly the same) has disowned him for being a useless bisexual embarrassment to the Miya family name - takes pity on him.

“Atsumu was just wondering if you could pick him up now,” Aran says, to his utter horror. And, just to kick Atsumu whilst he’s down, he adds: “Y’know, with your arms. Since you’ve put on all that muscle and everything.”

Atsumu takes it back. Aran-kun has no mercy. Gin is his best and oldest friend now.

“It just - it just seems like farm life is treatin’ you well, Kita-san. Real well," Atsumu babbles, his mouth a runaway train, veering right off the rails. “What with the - the hard work, and the manual labour, and that tan you’ve got going from the sun beating gloriously down on your back. Although I know you always wear sunscreen and cover up properly! Skin cancer is no joke! It’s just you have this - healthy glow, and also your arms are  _ amazing, _ and also you seem…”

His voice trails off. The train is so far off the rails that it’s plunged into a chasm of genuine, embarrassingly tender sentiment. “... Happy. It’s good to see you happy.”

All three of his senpai are staring at him now: two gleefully spectating, passing the metaphorical popcorn between themselves; one as stoic and unreadable as ever. Beneath that stoic and unreadable gaze, Atsumu slowly melts right into Onigiri Miya’s well-trodden floorboards.

Then Kita tips his head to one side and cuts straight through the bullshit, just as he always does.

“I  _ am  _ happy. I hope you are, too,” he says, and there’s a softness about his eyes - about his mouth - about his whole expression, and how he holds himself, too; as diligent and steadfast as ever, but with a sense of contentment rooted deep and thriving in his bones, his muscles, his burnished skin.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Atsumu replies - because right now, it’s true. On this spring evening at his brother’s restaurant, relaxed and tipsy with old friends determined to tease the living daylights out of him, he  _ is _ happy. They might have lost to the Red Falcons today, but there’s more matches yet to come: more to lose, and more to win, too. 

More, more, always more: the truth is, Atsumu is often happy - but unlike Kita, he’s rarely content. Sometimes he’s not sure if he’s even built for contentment; not in this life, this life he absolutely loves, stretching ahead of him hungrily, tearing up the earth in pursuit of each new horizon. 

"Y’know what would make Atsumu even happier, though," Akagi grins, wiggling his eyebrows at Kita, and, okay, maybe Atsumu doesn’t love this part of his life quite so much. Do they really have to tease him like this? Do they  _ want  _ him to straight up melt into a puddle of embarrassment?!

“I think I do know,” Kita says, perfectly serene. He looks up at Atsumu through his pale lashes, catching gold in the warm lighting. “Would you like me to pick you up?”

Holy shit. Atsumu really is a puddle on the floor now. Kita won’t even need to flex those amazing biceps to pick Atsumu up; he could scoop Atsumu into his calloused palms and gently cup him there for as long as he liked. Or, given that it’s Kita, he’d probably just mop Atsumu right off the floor.

Forget the mopping, though - Kita’s still waiting for his answer. Atsumu’s nodding frantically before he knows it, head bobbing up and down like an akabeko. 

“Y-Yes. Please,” he croaks. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, after all! They’ve been friends for years now - proper friends, beyond the epic highs and lows of high school volleyball - but who knows when he’ll ever get this chance again: Kita himself offering to scoop him up in his arms. Kita himself, stepping forwards, close enough to touch.

“Is right now okay?”

“Right now,” Atsumu affirms, nodding some more, reduced to helplessly echoing Kita’s words. “Please,” he tacks on, his breath catching as Kita comes even closer.

Kita nods too, a far more dignified affair than Atsumu’s akabeko head-bobbing, and stoops down to wrap his arms around Atsumu. One arm goes around Atsumu’s waist; the other around his thighs. Kita's pressed right up against his front, nearly face-to-face with his pecs, and Atsumu spares a moment's disappointment for the fact that Kita doesn't even look vaguely tempted to bury his face in his admittedly fantastic tits. Those are the fruits of his labour as an athlete, after all! It's not just Bokkun who can bounce a volleyball right off his chest!

Then again, even if Kita were tempted, it's not as if he'd let it show when he was out in public like this… and Atsumu stops  _ that _ train of thought right there. Because  _ he's  _ out in public too, wrapped snugly in Kita's embrace - the last thing he needs is to start thinking a bit too hard about Kita's private temptations and then start.  _ Reacting _ to those thoughts.

"Ready?" Kita asks in that calm, assured voice of his, which doesn't really help on the inconvenient reaction front. 

Atsumu nods mutely, not trusting his own voice. And slowly, carefully, Kita picks him up.

Atsumu’s throat goes completely dry. The world narrows to just the two of them: the warmth of Kita's arms around him, the warmth of his hands, his whole body, through the fabric of their clothes, everywhere they touch. The hammering of Atsumu’s heart, so loud and so fervent that Kita must be able to feel it knocking against his ribcage, like some wild thing begging to be let in.

Kita inhales and exhales, his chest moving against Atsumu, a steady rhythm that doesn’t even hitch. Effortlessly holding all 80 kilograms of Atsumu, he gazes up at him very seriously. 

“So, what d’ya think?”

_ I think I could die happy. _ Atsumu does not say this. Instead, he goes for the slightly less embarrassing option.

“God, you’re so strong,” he breathes.

Only slightly less embarrassing. Aran is valiantly trying to stifle his laughter, and Akagi’s wheezing so hard it sounds like he’s about to choke again, but that’s all background noise compared to how Kita’s quiet chuckle rumbles right through him.

“Well, someone’s got to carry the rice bags home, come harvest,” Kita says. He smiles so much easier than he did in high school, open-mouthed and sweet, his eyes curving like crescent moons as his white-gold lashes gently kiss his cheeks. “Like you said. Manual labour. Hard work.”

“Good work.”

“Yeah. It’s real good work.”

He sounds so content. There’s a faint scar at his temple, so pale against his tanned skin and the dark tips of his hair that Atsumu almost mistook it for a sliver of light. He's never seen it before. He wonders what happened. This imprint of Kita's past, a memory given form; a life stretching behind him, and ahead, built on the small things he does every day.

Atsumu’s not sure if he’s made for contentment; if he’s built the same way. But he thinks, given the chance, he could build his own kind of contentment in Kita’s arms.

They stay there for a moment longer - suspended in perfect equilibrium, Kita rooted to the earth, Atsumu encircled in his embrace. Without realising it, Atsumu’s arms have curled around Kita’s shoulders, his fingers laced behind his nape; they’re both so covered up, clad in long-sleeved shirts and jeans, that it’s the only place he’s touching Kita’s bare skin. 

Atsumu can’t tell whose pulse it is that shivers beneath his palms - whether it’s just an echo of his own thundering heartbeat, or whether Kita’s heart rate has been affected at all. Kita looks so calm, so content, holding Atsumu so tenderly, leaning into his touch. It feels like they could stay there for a moment, and another moment, for a whole season, until - come harvest - Kita would carry Atsumu home, too.

“I’m going to put you down now,” Kita says, gently matter-of-fact. 

A sigh escapes Atsumu’s lips. He nods, and knows that he’s going to dream about that firm hand on his waist, about Kita’s biceps pressed close to his body; about pressing his mouth to that faint scar on Kita’s temple and trailing soft kisses down his cheeks. He knows he’s going to dream about the harvest, and all the things that need to be done properly before they can reap what’s been sowed.

Atsumu’s feet touch the floor, but Kita doesn’t let go quite yet. His arms linger around Atsumu for a moment, for a season - and Atsumu wonders if he’s looking forward to the harvest, too.

“Well, how was it? Was it everything you dreamed of, Atsumu?” Akagi chimes in, chin resting on his palm like he’s avidly observing specimens in a zoo. Aran’s finishing off his craft beer for him, looking torn between utter elation at the indirect kiss and utter resignation at Atsumu and Kita’s antics. 

Even now, Kita doesn’t let go, his hands resting at Atsumu’s waist just as casually as Atsumu’s arms are looped around his neck. Forget melting; Atsumu feels like he’s at the peak of a perfect jump, weightless, buoyant, turning into bubbles, floating away. Only Kita’s touch tethers him, and reminds him that he should probably give a proper answer.

“It was fucking awesome,” Atsumu says, a dreamy grin stretching across his face. “You  _ wish _ Kita-san would pick you up.”

That was maybe the wrong thing to say. Akagi grabs the conversational gauntlet Atsumu’s thrown down, and takes off running with it.

“Oh, Shinsuke,  _ will _ you pick me up?” he coos, batting his lashes at a ridiculous rate. 

Kita gives Akagi a flat look.

“No,” he says, taking his hands off Atsumu’s waist. Atsumu can’t bring himself to be too disappointed, though, because Kita follows this up by leaning right into him, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

Atsumu gives a soft mock gasp. “Are ya saying I was too heavy?”

Kita glances up at him, brows raised slightly. “Of course not,” he replies. “You’re eating well, right? Eating balanced meals - following your dietitian’s advice? So long as you’re happy and healthy, you’ll never be too heavy for me.”

“Ah, that’s -” Atsumu finds his voice faltering, blushing to the tips of his ears. “That’s... Thank you, Kita-san. Yeah, I’ve been eating well. I’ve been really enjoying your rice.”

Now Akagi’s looking at them like particularly fascinating bugs underneath a microscope. Beside him, Aran downs the last of his drink, resignation winning out on his face.

“I’ll send you some more, then,” Kita says in a tone that brooks no argument. “Michinari, Aran, I’ll send each of you a bag too, if you’d like.”

“Sounds great!” Aran puts his drink down with a decisive clatter. Scanning the room, his eyes land on all 192cm of Osaka’s top customs officer and practically light up.

“Oh, look, Michinari, isn’t that Ren waving us over?” he says, tugging Akagi’s elbow. “Man, I really wanna chat with Ren. Let’s go talk to Ren. I’m sure Shinsuke and Atsumu have a lot to catch up on, so why don’t we just leave them to their one-on-one?”

Oomimi is very much not waving anyone over, but his eyes keep getting drawn to Aran and Akagi, his stolid gaze not shifting even now that Osamu and Gin are - yep, they’ve now moved onto some unholy crossover of an eating competition and playing Konpira Fune Fune with Osamu’s hat while Shouyou sings and claps along.

Really, it’s quite impressive that Oomimi’s been able to maintain his focus amidst all that racket. Then again, it’s not like Atsumu can talk; he hadn’t even noticed when it started, far too distracted in Kita’s arms.

“Yeah, let’s leave the lovebirds be,” Akagi laughs, which is rich coming from someone who’s so eagerly hopping off his barstool and swaying right into Aran’s touch. Atsumu just pretends he didn’t hear it - easy enough, now that Bokuto’s joined in the singing, bellowing  _ SHURA SHU SHU SHU _ at the top of his lungs.

“Don’t forget you owe me more drinks!” Akagi adds, cheerfully shaking his fist at Atsumu as Aran wraps an arm around his shoulders, still clad in the Red Falcons jacket, and steers him across the room. “It’s all on your tab tonight, Miya-senshu!”

Well, it’s just one night - and Akagi  _ did _ help him get picked up by Kita, after all. For that, Atsumu’s wallet can take the hit.

“Fine, fine!” he calls out, raising his voice over the impromptu choir of volleyball players. “I’ll cover it. Good luck, Akagi-san, Aran-kun! Go get your man! You guys can do this - I believe in you!”

The two of them look at each other for a second, and then shoot him matching furtive grins. Which - huh. Maybe they aren’t as oblivious to their embarrassing threesome courtship ritual as he thought they were. With any luck, they’ll indeed get their man.

Kita doesn’t look particularly surprised at this turn of events, either; if anything, he looks rather amused, his smile curving sweetly against Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“It  _ has _ been a while. We do have a lot to catch up on,” he says, his eyes so soft and yet so piercing. “How have you been, Atsumu?”

All thoughts of embarrassing courtship rituals drift right out of Atsumu’s mind. Even Bokuto’s caterwauling fades into the background. The world narrows to just the two of them - and then it flowers wide open, every horizon falling away beneath Kita’s tender, unwavering gaze.

Even Atsumu could fall away beneath that gaze: no grip beneath his feet, nothing left to chase. “Well - Kita-san, I’ve -”

“Shinsuke,” Kita says. “We’ve known each other for so long by now. You can call me by my first name.”

Atsumu stares down at him. Kita - no,  _ Shinsuke _ \- tips his head up, his smile spilling across his face like sunlight. And Atsumu isn’t falling away, but unfolding, endlessly: because Shinsuke’s right, after all. They have known each other for years. And still Atsumu wants to know Shinsuke all over again, in this life he’s built for himself, in his happiness and his contentment, in his arms, in his embrace.

“... Shinsuke,” he says. His breath doesn’t hitch; his tongue doesn’t trip. The word is quietly, miraculously whole. A promise of his feelings - a promise of the coming harvest. And the conversation comes easy, after that.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! kita’s biceps truly are amazing… atsumu really havin the time of his life in this fic
> 
> a couple of notes: [akabeko](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Akabeko) are very cute! konpira fune fune is a geisha/geiko drinking game played along to the eponymous song - here's a [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tv0y8asP-lM) explaining + demonstrating how to play and here are the [lyrics](https://missmyloko.tumblr.com/post/190095057923/whats-in-a-dance-part-16) of the song 
> 
> I love reading all your comments and hearing your thoughts, so please do drop me a comment if you like! even if it’s just I WANT TO BE CRADLED IN KITA’S BICEPS TOO, it’ll be deeply appreciated ^^ (and also same hat… same hat!! I want to be cradled in kita’s biceps too!!)


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